Rain Running

My watch did not enjoy my run in the rain.

This morning before the other humans had stirred,

I woke to the ringing of an alarm that was not my own,

and saw the irresistible rain.

Now my watch doesn't tell the date.

The hidden world of the rain 

Belongs to me alone this morning,

Belongs to every majestic thing that is more than me.

As I jog past my neighbors' gardens

I am bathed in a gluttony of green,

and my hungry winter eyes feast.

The streets are deserted, except for the busy car,

the inevitable machinery of sleepwalkers.

My body moves to the hum of the world this morning,

water fractures off my head.

And I know there is nothing better

than the smell of locust blossoms,

than the patience of the rain

to cleanse me of this human yearning

for something I can never be.

Adam and Eve created a species

who clamor to become for the power of gods.

All the fine rugs of the world,

Designer panchos,

Sports cars,

Will not wash away makeup like spring rain,

Will not steady an organ, pumping sunlit energy to a body,

Will not remind us that we too are waterproof.

We too belong to 

The wild and pristine wetland,

Who harbors the waters from flooding the town.

We too belong to

The windy last day of may,

Shivering through the trees. 

I return to the burrow of my house,

soaked,

smiling.

There is nothing 

like rain running

to save a human soul. 

My watch flashes, beeping an anguished protest,

and then goes blank,

beads of water clinging to the inside panel of glass.